Your Quietest Feeling
by Justifiably
Summary: Soul accidentally confesses his feelings in the heat of battle and has to deal with the aftermath while he and his meister are camped out in the country side with no supplies. For Soma NSFW Week 2016, contains explicit content.


He really messed up this time.

If there's one cardinal rule to follow in terms of keeping a long term meister-weapon relationship, it's to keep it professional, but that's a moot point now. It would be a lot less nerve wracking if she'd just acknowledge it though.

Almost exactly two hours ago, one Soul Eater Evans may have let a few things slip through during resonance that he'd been trying to keep to himself for approximately three years, two months, give or take a week or two. Everything had just gotten so tense, and it's so much harder to keep up an emotional shield when he's spending so much energy making sure Maka doesn't get her foot lobbed off by some nasty ass monster with a penchant for human flesh. It's all so stupid - they've faced so much worse in the past - but some combination of fear and the ever-stacking time spent in deep repression had gotten the best of him.

" _Damnit, Maka, dodge! Keep focused, I love you too much to let anything happen to you."_

He fucked up. He fucked up everything.

Of course, now she won't even mention it. They're posted up in the woods behind some English farm house trying to recuperate before flying back across the Atlantic during daylight hours, and all she can talk about is inconsequential bullshit. Every fiber in Soul's being screams for him to say something about it, bring it up, start a conversation, set everything straight or lie through his teeth and pretend he'd meant it platonically. But if there's some small chance she hadn't heard, or had been paying too much attention to the fight to hear him confessing in their shared soul space, he can't bring himself to screw it up twice in one day.

"Shoot, I didn't bring a flashlight," Maka says, snapping him from his circular thought train. She's been digging through both of their bags for the past few minutes to take inventory of what they'd brought, and lamenting that she hadn't remembered a spare set of clothes in their rush to get out of the apartment.

"No flashlight, no extra clothes - I thought you were supposed to be the prepared one." He can't help but try to make a joke to cover his nervous energy. At least it's getting dark enough to cover up his serious case of restless leg syndrome.

Maka squints at him. Dusk has settled comfortably around them and the low light casts her purple. "The assignment was _very_ last minute," she grits out. "And it wasn't supposed to take this long."

She's only mad because her uniform is now filthy thanks to one unfortunately wet lick from that damned Pre-K. No creature has any business producing that much saliva.

Disgruntled and disappointed by her fruitless search, his meister slings her backpack over her shoulder and stands up in a huff. "I'm going down to that stream we passed to rinse off before it gets too dark."

He nods. "Guess I'll try to find some firewood or something."

Truthfully, Soul's not totally confident he could make a fire from scratch, but he's gotta do something productive while she's in a mood and simultaneously pretending that he didn't pour out his feelings for her. Maybe she really hadn't heard.

Maka disappears and he goes to wander their surroundings in ever increasing circles around the clearing they'd scoped out to spend the night. Though, there isn't actually a point. In the trees he can barely see anything, and all the sticks he's picking up will probably burn for a grand total of ten minutes before dying out. If he can get them to light in the first place. Do they even have matches? They're so gratuitously unprepared for an overnight trip considering how long they've been doing this.

It just really isn't his day today, is it?

He should've been paying attention to where he was walking. Should've had a mental map going on of where they'd come from, where the stream was, where Maka was trying to rinse off mud and demon spit. There's just enough residual daylight to see the clear shape of her back, pale, slender, and toned, curving up from the water while her hands scrub at her head. Stupid girl. How could she have forgotten a flashlight, but remembered travel-sized shampoo, of all things?

Once he's put his brain back in his head, shut his gaping mouth, and realized he should not be ogling her graceful outline, Soul immediately turns around to start walking back the other way. But, if the universe is out to get him, it just can't go at it half way, can it? In the darkness, he misses a promising stick, steps on it with a thunderous crack, and immediately drops the bundle in his arms just to add to the cacophony.

There's a loud splash - probably Maka dipping fully into the water to protect herself from his creepy peeping eyes and gross feelings she doesn't reciprocate. "Soul?"

Fucking hell and all the saints of everything shitty. "Sorry," he yelps, ducking behind a tree. "I didn't mean to come down this way."

"It-it's fine," she stutters. "I'm just glad it's you; for a second I thought there was some animal or someone from that farm house up the hill."

Oh. Well, at least he ranks higher on her list of things she wants to see above a bear or an angry farmer with a shotgun. That's comforting.

"Yep. Just me. Anyway - I'll just go back to that clearing-"

"Wait!" she squawks, splashing again. Is she coming out of the water? Naked?! "Just, wait for me a sec, it's dark and I don't know if I could find my way back there."

"Ah- okay." Deep breaths. _Slow the fuck down, buster._ Just because she asked him to wait for her doesn't mean she's going to invite him in for a romantic swim in the moonlight. Soul leans against the tree, trying not to focus on the fact that his meister is naked over there. If he can tune out the racketing frequency of his pounding heart, he can hear the water, and her wading back to the edge.

" _Shit,"_ comes a quiet hiss from her silhouette and he resists peeking to see what the problem is.

"Everything okay down there?" Soul asks.

More rustling and a hurried, "It's fine! I just… rinsed the gunk off my clothes without thinking about them being soaking wet but I don't have anything else to put on."

The words are hardly out of her mouth and he's already shedding his spartoi jacket. "You can borrow my coat if you want."

"Bring it down," she answers, sounding a little defeated and a lot distressed. The mere timbre makes him want to pull her in close and comb through her hair, but that's not on the current list of appropriate behavior. Soul approaches slowly and cautiously. His eyes are adjusting to the growing darkness, but all he can see is her turned and hunched form, still half in the stream and folded over to protect her meager modesty.

"It's right here," he says lowly, dropping the jacket on the ground next to her other clothes and retreating back to higher ground. All he wants is to make her comfortable, show her that it doesn't matter if he's in love with her, let her know that he'll survive if she doesn't feel the same.

It doesn't take long for her to get dressed when all she has to put on is his jacket. Eyes closed, breathing slowly and evenly, Soul hears her approach rather than seeing it, and she kneels next to him with a soft whump. Everything is so quiet, and _death,_ awkward, but Maka clears her throat and speaks anyway. "At least there was a change of underwear in my bag."

Well at least he doesn't have to worry about having a pantiless meister now. That would not be conducive to flying home _at all._

"You didn't happen to bring any matches, did you? Or a lighter?"

When she doesn't answer, he knows she hasn't. "I brought snacks," she offers quietly after a minute, digging out some packages from her backpack.

"I'm not hungry," he grumbles. It's true, too. Normally, he'd probably be starving, but his stomach is twisting in knots thinking about how stilted everything is and how they'll have to be on the same page to fly home tomorrow but neither one of them has said anything yet-

"Soul?" Maka's voice is so quiet, but it still rings in his ears amongst the deeper stillness that comes with being in the woods. Even with crickets chirping, and the odd distant nightingale song, it's deathly calm, and his name on her tongue shakes him.

His only response is a distracted hum. He's trying too hard not to break down, or grab his partner by the shoulders, to form a proper answer.

Her next words take a minute to sink in, but sink they do, into his skin and through his veins until they settle low in his stomach. Hushed, she asks, "Did you mean it?"

Lying to his partner never sits right with him. It doesn't mean he never does, when it comes to stupid stuff like how much time he spends studying, or if he called his mom recently. He lies too, about his feelings, keeps them pent up behind a sturdy barrier of sarcasm and poorly masked platonic affection, but being asked so point blank like this… it would be terrible to say 'no.'

Tongue tied, Soul swallows and keeps his mouth shut. There's no safe answer here - if he tells the truth and confesses he absolutely meant it, it could change _everything._ On the other hand, if he says he didn't mean it... What kind of person would that make him? That he's the kind of guy to say 'I love you' on a whim? It'd make him just like her dad, which is the opposite of what he wants.

"Soul, I need to know."

No matter how dark it is, and no matter how he stares ahead, her eyes bore into his skull. He might as well sign his own death sentence. "Um… yeah. I meant it."

Her sigh is deafening. "Oh."

"It doesn't matter, though," he backtracks as fast as his words can carry him. "I mean, it's been years anyway and it hasn't changed anything so it's not like it's going to make a difference now-"

Maka twitches. Wait. Shit. Did he just confess that he'd been in love with her for _years?_ Not that it's not true, but it wasn't really conducive to playing it off as no big deal.

At least she's not hitting him, or running away completely disgusted; she just curls further inward around her knees. "God, I've been stupid," she mutters, adding, "You must think I've been being so stupid. All this time, I just never thought-"

"Hey, nothing's gonna change, okay?" Soul finally turns to face her, even if it's too dark to see. He may be embarrassed, but she's clearly upset. "Don't worry about it. I'm not going anywhere, or about to do anything. I'm your weapon after all-"

Queen of interruption, he should've known Maka would cut him off before he could stick his foot further in his mouth, but her method is unorthodox. In the darkness, she leans in quickly to mash their lips together, their foreheads clunking in her haste.

Soul pulls back but his brain promptly short circuits and he forgets everything he'd wanted to say and instead he just yelps, "What the fuck?"

"Buh?!" Apparently his meister's brain has stopped working too.

"What was that about?" This whole situation is so unprecedented; there's no telling what hare-brained thoughts are going through Maka's head with her just kissing him out of the blue like that. It hadn't even been a proper kiss, at that, just a quick clack of teeth with bruised lips.

"What do you mean, 'what was that about?' Don't you want to… k-kiss and stuff?"

He sighs. His meister isn't usually one to stutter; clearly he's put her in quite the predicament, and he has to set this straight. "Not if you're just doing it because you think you should," he grumbles. "I don't wanna kiss someone who's not actually interested."

"Soul Eater Evans!" she shouts, voice climbing with each syllable. "Don't you dare say that! You don't have any idea what my feelings are, you self-absorbed idiot."

"Fill me in, then," he snaps, annoyed and embarrassed.

Unintelligible, sputtered exclamations bubble up between her heavy breaths, like she's trying to compose herself, but certainly not trying very hard. Small calloused hands find his cheeks, and for a second he's worried she's going to just kiss him again and pretend like that counts as a conversation, but she breathes in a heavy inhale, ready to blow over the storm. "You're my person," she declares, higher pitched and breathier than he expected, nearly squeaking. "You're always going to be my person."

He could've told her that much, but it doesn't factor attraction into the complicated balance between them.

Maka continues shakily, " _I've_ been in love with you since I was fifteen. _You're_ the one who always made it clear you weren't interested, so don't get all high and mighty with me."

Huh? Is she for real right now? Incredulous, Soul whispers, "What did you say?"

"I'm in love with you. I've always been in love with you." Her whole body is quivering and he can feel the vibrations through her skin as she holds his face.

Arms rising of their own accord, they settle around her waist, pulling her closer, where she belongs. Soul breathes her name, enamoured and soft, before swearing to hell and back. " _Maka, Jesus fucking Christ."_

Clumsily, he continues to pull her into his lap while she hurls insults at him, telling him he's the stupidest, least observant person she's ever met, and how dare he act like the martyr here when she's been stuffing her feelings aside _forever_.

"Shh," he hisses, his hands clearly know where to go, holding her neck and tangling in her wet hair. If only his brain were so coherent. He can't help but stutter, "D-didn't you want to kiss, or something? We should try again without the head bonking."

With a deep inhale, Maka tilts back, and says, "Okay."

She doesn't move any further than that, though, but he supposes she'd initiated the first (albeit terrible) kiss and fair is fair; it's his turn now. Too bad he doesn't know what the hell he's doing. Every romcom Maka has practically peeled his eyelids back to force him to watch comes to mind. How had they made kissing seem so natural and easy?

Soul tilts his head to the side, leans, misses in the dark and ends up mapping her cheek by braille until he finds her damn mouth. Her lips are a bit chapped, but so warm, and they slant against his own with a passion he's very familiar with, but had never considered being focused on _him_. She's grabbing at every part of him she can reach, tugging his hair as if she can force his face any closer than it already is. On one hand, he's scared shitless about where this runaway train is heading, but on the other, he's utterly elated. Maka loves him! She said so, in her own angry, disgruntled, and indignant way, but if she's mad, she's only taking it out on him by kissing him all the more fiercely.

If it's supposed to be a punishment, it certainly doesn't feel like it.

Somewhere along the line, tongues get involved and everything gets a little messy and uncoordinated really fast, but it's his meister, the very one he's been pining over for ages, wiggling in his lap and making tiny pleased gasps and whines when he starts peppering kisses over her neck.

He misses her eager palms on his chest, but then it hits him that she's unbuttoning his jacket that _she_ wears and another rush of lightning shocks his system. As far as he's aware, there's nothing underneath there, but if she wants to go from zero to topless in a single bound then he's on board. Maka pulls her jacket aside and unceremoniously plants his hands around her ribcage.

"Fuck," Soul groans into her shoulder. His fingers twitch and tap experimentally between her ribs, revelling in the smooth skin and and wiry muscles overlaying her body.

Mission accomplished, his squirming meister slings her arms around his neck and whines, " _Soul, touch me."_

She doesn't have to tell him twice. One hand snakes its way up her back to cup her neck again while the other, cautious, but ever so eager, slides to the underside of her breast, at which point he promptly loses any cool he had left. Nothing could have prepared him for how soft it would be, and he's immediately greedy for more. He tests the weight in his palm, and what she sounds like when he lightly rolls a nipple between two fingers. Wandering touches are unfettered by anything stupid, like a bra, and all is right with the world.

The rustling of their clothes is so damn loud in the evening air, as are Maka's tiny, desperate gasps as she grinds and wiggles herself against his ever hardening dick. Is this fine? Is she okay with this? Soul tries to pause their frantic kisses to check but she just immediately demands he take his shirt off.

"Soul," she calls for him, tugging emphatically on his clothing. "Soul, I _need_ you."

"Hey, Slow down a little. I'm not going anywhere." He presses his lips to her temples, her cheeks, finding so many inches of her face he hasn't properly smooched yet, before helping her drag his shirt over his head.

With so much more skin to inspect, Maka eagerly explores, taking in the rough texture of his scar from collarbone to waistband. Her fingers tremble at his belt, but it's hard to tell if it's from nervousness or excitement; probably some of both. At least that's how it is for him.

"Do you want to stop?" he asks. "Are you sure about this?"

"I just don't know what I'm doing," she admits with a shaky laugh. "But I'm really sure about it."

Well damn, it's not like he knows what he's doing either, and he's scared shitless he's going to mess up and hurt her somehow. Every porno he's ever seen flickers through his head, but he's pretty sure there's supposed to be a hell of a lot more foreplay… or something. He squeezes her hip in a wild attempt to distract her while he tries to get his shit together. "I don't really know what I'm doing either, so-"

"We'll figure it out."

Soul doesn't think his mouth has ever been his dry in his life. His fingers wander to the edge of her underwear. "Can I?"

The barest brush makes her roll her hips against him, and the sensation has him seeing stars. Because, hey, that's his dick she's rubbing herself on, and it's such a close approximation of sex that his brain is going haywire.

"Soul, I just..." A couple more erratic hip rolls and a needy whine. "Let's just…"

She's being painfully vague, but if the way she's trying to melt their bodies together is any indication, he's pretty sure of what she's getting at. Pretty sure isn't totally explicit, though, and he's not about to just whip his pants off without a moment's hesitation, no matter how much his hard-on strains against the denim of his jeans.

"Um." Soul swallows, licks his lips, tries to regain some semblance of his composure while Maka worms sexily in his lap. "Do you maybe wanna lie down?"

There's no answer, but she gives a tiny nod into his shoulder and detaches herself. Slowly. Reluctantly. When she leans back, scooting away from him and propping herself up to watch him crawl towards her, the moonlight hits and casts soft shadows along her jaw and under her breasts. Soul is taken aback, and his breath taken away; for a moment, he's too overwhelmed to join her, until-

"Aren't you gonna take your pants off?"

A completely unmanly gargle escapes him before he can respond. "Now? Um… sure? Wait, I don't have a condom."

"You don't have a condom," Maka repeats. Though her skin is luminous and holy, it's still too dark to discern her expression.

"I mean, I never thought this would happen… Kinda gave up on any hope of-"

"There's one in my bag." It comes out of her mouth so nonchalantly, like everyone just keeps condoms with them at all times, and it makes him wonder what exactly she'd been preparing for.

Soul is completely dumbfounded. What kind of priorities does this girl have? "You brought condoms on a mission, but not a flashlight?"

She sits up for the sole purpose of pinching his cheeks while an embarrassed growl starts up in her throat like a race car revving it's engine. "I just leave one in my mission bag all the time! You know, just in case…"

"Just in case of what?!"

"This! Soul! In case _this_ ever happened, in case you ever did actually… like me… or something… I didn't want anything to get in the way," she squawks, getting more flustered by the second before dwindling to a mumble. "'S better to be prepared."

He'd laugh at her being so Maka and over-prepared, but the fact that it meant she wanted to go all the way with him had totally blown him away. Him! Soul Eater Evans. Dumbfounded, all he manages to get out is, "Oh."

At his short spoken answer, she too gets quiet, and for a moment the only sounds are the creek and the crickets. It takes a minute, but with a deep breath, Maka meekly asks, "I mean. Do you want to?"

He never thought he'd see the day.

"Don't laugh at me," Maka grumbles when he doesn't immediately answer. Even in the darkness, he can see her rock side to side nervously, her legs curled up to her chest again like a flower folding in for the night.

"I'm not," he says, very seriously, though their predicament would be pretty funny if there was sufficient circulation going to his brain instead of between his legs. Loath to take his eyes off her, Soul fumbles behind him for her satchel and digs through, searching by touch for wherever that pesky little plastic package might be.

This is real, right? He can let himself be happy, excited, totally scared out of his mind, right?

Aha! His fingers catch a square wrapper and pull out the prize. Now is the time. Except, now he's realizing he has to figure this out in the dark, and hope he doesn't accidentally slingshot the thing into the forest and ruin his chances of ever being happy, never mind that they're going home tomorrow and could have access to whatever supply of condoms Blair inevitably keeps around the apartment. Soul swallows his fear and takes his jeans off while Maka watches curiously. Now he's glad for the darkness that shields his face; there's no telling how furiously he's blushing right now.

Maka is on a mission to find out, though, and she sits up further to cup his cheek, no doubt feeling the burning flush that betrays his shyness.

Her forehead pressed against his and, her breathing quiet, she ghosts her hands down his neck, squeezing his shoulders and slowly gliding down his chest, and his abdomen, making his breath hitch in all kinds of embarrassing ways.

Then she asks, "Can I?" and ever so slowly and gently, grips his length when he nods dumbly. _Fuck._

"I uh… got the condom." It's so hard to speak normally with his meister jacking him off, albeit with experimental and feathering touches that tease more than they satisfy. No matter, her hand is on his junk and he's going to die.

"Yeah?" At least he's not the only one who's distracted; Maka seems enamoured with testing out how his dick feels in her hand, but she looks up at the sound of tearing plastic.

She helps him put the damn thing on without losing it in the grass, after flipping it over multiple times. It's such a pain; he's definitely kicking himself for not paying more attention in sex-ed, or practicing on his own time, or _something._ Anything to make this less embarrassing and awkward.

His partner doesn't seem to think anything of it, though, planting quick, excited kisses to his cheek and neck when they finally roll it on together.

"Do you wanna… lie back down?" Soul asks, and Maka falls away in slow motion while he holds her knees down for leverage. When her back hits the ground though, she makes a tiny grunt, and winces, sending that majority portion of his brain (the part that worries) into overdrive. "Are you okay? Wait, shit, are you injured?"

"Oh, no, there's just a bruise on my shoulder from when that Kishin knocked me over and I had to roll," she answers as if it's totally fine, though by her standards it probably is.

"Let me see," he demands, tugging her back up right.

Maka yanks her wrist out of his grasp indignantly. "You can't _see_ anything with it being this dark. I _know_ you're just gonna poke it."

"Am not." Denial comes second nature to him, though he's already mapping out her back to discern the edges of the problem area. "Well, you shouldn't put pressure on it. Maybe we should wait, it's already been so long, it can't hurt to-"

"I don't wanna wait!" she cuts him off like a spoiled child. "It's been so long already, I don't wanna wait anymore. I want this with you, Soul."

It's hard to argue when he feels the same way. He wants her deeply, in that soul crushing way that makes him feel like he's drowning when she looks at him, and like he's gotten his first breath of fresh air when she holds his hand. Sex, though, which seems to be the current objective… even if everything goes right, if her back is already bruised, having her lie on it seems like it would make for an unpleasant experience, which is the last thing he wants.

"Why don't you scoot back up there?" Maka nods back towards the tree, and stalks towards him as he scrambles back upwards.

Within a minute, they're back in their original spot: his meister in his lap with her arms around his shoulders, only this time there's a hundred percent less fabric between them and the heat between her legs is blinding. The urge to tilt his hips up and bury himself there is overwhelming, but even if Maka isn't worried about this, he certainly is.

Soul wedges a hand between them, sliding his middle finger along her slit and cupping her in his hand. She's so warm, and slick, and she whines at his touch, lifting her hips up for better access. Of course, this also gives him better access to plant a series of smooches across her chest while he traces along her folds.

"I wanna touch you a bit first," he mumbles into her collarbone. "Before we-"

" _Yes."_ She's emphatic and distracted all at once, grinding herself on his palm because he's not moving enough.

"Let me know if it's okay." With a nervous swallow on his part, she abruptly sinks herself onto his finger and moans. All signals are firing in his brain to move, to pump into her with abandon, but he doesn't start until Maka takes the lead, rolling her hips forward, and down.

" _Soul,"_ she calls. Every sound from her mouth is a siren call, and when she directs him to curl his fingers forward, he beckons her toward the finish line. She's close, or he thinks she is anyway, if her panting pleas are any indication. But while her hips have taken on a life of her own, she grips his shoulders and breathily asks him to stop.

Maka nearly collapses against him, breathing hard, her legs trembling, and Soul links his arms around her back, reeling her in to lean against his chest. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just…" Her dance resumes, this time along his dick, and he's immediately back to praying he doesn't lose it before she comes. It would've been easier if she'd let him finish her first; maybe then he'd feel marginally less guilty when he inevitably lasts approximately thirty seconds. But Maka is determined to do this together, and she reaches between them to hold his length as she murmurs, "I want you inside."

All he can do is nod into her shoulder and hold still while she positions him at her entrance. Soul grips her hips for dear life, his fingers twitching while he tries to breathe deeply and through the nose. It's best she goes at her own pace, lowering herself slowly until there's no space left between them.

Holy. Fucking. Shit. It's too much. He's going to melt into a puddle and Maka hasn't even moved yet. Motionless, she's still adjusting to the foreign sensation, but her walls twitch and spasm at random.

"Is it okay? Does it hurt?" Soul runs his palms up and down her thighs, half to soothe her, and half to soothe himself.

Every touch blazes, her hands scald his shoulders and her breath is nearly blistering against his lips as she leans in for a quick kiss. "It's good," she whispers. Gradually her body comes to life, and she rises and falls, experimentally moving over him. "Really good."

"'S really good for me too," he mutters, letting his hold on her settle at her hips so he can help guide her motions. _Good_ doesn't really begin to cover what he's feeling, but he's promptly rendered speechless by the way she rocks over him.

It's a little awkward, settling on pacing and figuring out how to move to match her. They fall in and out of rhythm, much as their souls slip in and out of resonance. But when they hit a stride, Maka moans and buries her face in his shoulder while her body bucks wildly.

With a pause, and a full body shudder, she stops for a moment with a panted apology. "Sorry - hah - I was just… really close before, when you…"

"Nothing to be sorry about," he says warmly, grasping her rear firmly. Truth be told, he's relieved, and glowing with pride to have helped her finish before him, and having everything come to a grinding halt certainly isn't going to hurt his stamina either.

There's only a second to recollect himself, though, before Maka declares that she's going to keep going. Now her apparent goal is to wipe his brain and remove human language from his tongue, though her name is still very, _very_ , familiar. Soul gasps for her, and finds himself jerking and lurching between his meister's legs. The tree he leans against is rough against his back, and the sensation is a little painful, but he's grateful to have something to ground him to reality when he comes undone with a violent tremor.

His head falls heavy, leaned into Maka's neck while he regains some small amount of his composure.

A languid sigh escapes his meister's lips as she relaxes against his chest, her body stilling, though tiny aftershocks still wrack her bones. "That was perfect," she whispers, threading her fingers through his hair. Once again he can't argue; despite all their fumblings, he wouldn't change a thing, though maybe next time they can try in an actual bed.

"Mhm, might need to rinse off again though." His back is damp with sweat and no doubt covered in moss from leaning against that tree. There's the condom to deal with too, and it takes a little nudge for Maka to get the idea to roll off to the side so he can take it off.

"I might need to join you," she shoots back after a minute and the realization hits him that she's _flirting_ and that's a _thing_ that's part of his reality now. This keeps getting better and better. "And there is that stream down there."

They pick their way through the grass down to the water, Maka wading in and sitting down immediately while Soul wavers over the temperature until she splashes him and he slips.

"You're the worst," he grumbles, halfhearted at best. No matter the complaints he may voice, he still seeks her touch, reaching to rub her shoulders and the back of her neck.

And that cheeky girl! She doesn't even deign a response, just snorts and splashes him over her shoulder again. Well, there's a solution for that: wrapping his arms around her in a bear hug and pinning her against him, a series of actions to which she makes no resistance. She just leans back against him, letting her head fall back so she can look up at the sky. "The stars are nice out here without all that light pollution we have in Death City."

True as that may be, he's a little too focused on how said starlight glints off Maka's wet skin. He nuzzles into her neck and mumbles, "Sorry for being an idiot all this time."

When she turns around in his arms to face him, her eyes sparkle too. "I might forgive you if you kiss me again, dummy."

Soul is more than happy to oblige, repeatedly, until they're both shivering in the cold water and have to retreat back to higher ground. They nestle in under the same tree after Soul puts his clothes back on and Maka wraps his jacket around her shoulders to use as a blanket. She climbs on top of him, tucking her knees up to her chest.

"You cold?" he asks, greedily stroking her damp hair.

She answers cheerfully, "Nah. I'm good," burrowing herself under his arm like she belongs there, which, to be fair, she does. "Go to sleep."

There's a special kind of stillness that comes with being in the countryside, despite whatever birds and other creatures flitter through the underbrush. Sleep comes easily to Soul with his meister's breath, warm and steady on his chest. All good things must come to an end, though, and the sun starts to rise at approximately bullshit o'clock, light shooting straight through the tree branches and into his face. Soul wakes with an annoyed grumble, to which Maka gives an equally disgruntled response, tugging his jacket up to cover her face. Oh yeah. She's here, using his jacket as a blanket, which she is mostly naked underneath. Dew has settled ruthlessly over all their belongings; her clothes are no less damp than the night before, while the used condom stares at him from the ground like a glittering reminder of last night's glorious events.

Condoms should not glitter. Condensation can go suck an egg.

With a ferocious growl, Maka blinks the sleep from her eyes and groggily demands, "Gimme your pants," to which his response is a series of confused faces until she elaborates that she is not flying across the country pantsless.

"I need those, though," he yelps when she starts tugging at the waist band. Under other circumstances, he'd love for her to yank his pants off, but given the fact that she's just trying to steal the very clothes off his body…

"No you don't. Where do your pants even go when you're a scythe, Soul? You're either naked in there or you're in that suit," she argues frantically, trying in vain to strip him while he swats her hands away. "I'll just fly you straight through the door and give them back. I promise."

"Fine! Death, woman, I'll give you the damn pants, but just leave 'em be until we're actually leaving." He snorts. It's so hard not to laugh when she's so vehemently trying to get him out of his clothes for all of the least sexy reasons.

Maka pouts, and wrinkles her nose, but thankfully stops attacking his zipper. "You're not gonna make me give your jacket back too, are you?"

He shoots a glance down the open front of his coat that's still draped around her shoulders "Now that would just be cruel." With a flash of her eyes, she makes a point of sitting back and putting it on properly while he watches, tugging the zipper up as slow as humanly possible in some sort of reverse striptease. This is fine, totally _not_ turning him on right now.

Once it's on, her demeanor flips out of this newfound smoldering version of herself, back to regular Maka, and she asks, "Are you hungry?"

"Starving," he answers. As fun as it had been intimately touching _his meister_ last night, he'd neglected to put down any calories. The bag of trail mix that hits him in the face looks devoid of chocolate chips and therefore thoroughly not exciting, but it'll do.

"You better finish that," she says, half casual, half threatening. "I need the bag for _that_."

His eyes follow her finger that's pointed directly at the conspicuous used rubber that still lies a couple feet away from where he sits. Soul chokes.

"What? We can't leave it here, Soul, that's littering. What if a bird swallows it or something?"

He's a little more concerned about his own airway at the moment, but despite his coughing, he wolfs down the rest of the food at her request. They don't call him 'Eater' for nothing.

Offending trash secured, and wet clothes stuffed in Maka's bag, he begrudgingly hands over his pants for the flight home, though he's a little on edge over the knowing smirk on his partner's face. It's not like he's even got any shameful morning wood, for Death's sake!

No matter; resonance comes easily, and the flight back is lazy and comfortable. Taking a scenic route home doesn't seem like a waste of time when their souls are dancing, and it's not like they're slated to be back until the evening anyway.

He hasn't messed up anything, and he hasn't broken anything between them. They're still Soul Eater Evans and Maka Albarn, only now he doesn't have to stop himself from looking at her so longingly, and in these new moments, he gets to see her looking back at him just as fondly.


End file.
